


Gherkins, Vanilla Ice-Cream, and You.

by downdeepinside



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cravings, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant!Sherlock, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepinside/pseuds/downdeepinside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr: 'Johnlock mpreg where Sherlock's heavily pregnant and he's having cravings and wants to curl up on the sofa with John. Make it fluffy!'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gherkins, Vanilla Ice-Cream, and You.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anon on tumblr! Hope you like it and thanks for the prompt!
> 
> This story contains mpreg so don't read if you don't like it; and I don't own Sherlock or make any money for writing stuff! I don't have a beta and this story was only written very quickly (to satisfy my own mpreg cravings), so any mistakes are mine and I'm very sorry - if you point them out I'll edit them. This piece is rated T because I get frightened by not rating things correctly and there's a little sexual innuendo in there.
> 
> Thank you!

After seven years of living with the man, and four years of being in a relationship with him, you would think John Watson would be used to receiving strange texts from the consulting detective by now.

And still, when his phone buzzed in the middle of a surprisingly quiet afternoon at the surgery John found himself raising an eyebrow at the text from one heavily pregnant Sherlock Holmes. It read, rather simply; ‘Gherkins. Vanilla ice cream. You. –SH’.

John glanced around the office nervously as if he was expecting someone to burst in and tell him off for texting during office hours, before tapping out a reply with a smirk on his face: ‘I sincerely hope this isn’t some new kink of yours.’.

The response was almost immediate; ‘I’m eight months pregnant, I think I’m entitled to be a little hormonal. –SH’.

John was fairly certain he let out a squeak at that, ‘Oh no, you’re taking that the wrong way, aren’t you? I’m having cravings. –SH’.

‘You’re craving me? Is that even possible?’

There was a two minute pause before Sherlock’s next text and John could practically see his sarcastic eye roll, followed by his trade-mark ‘everyone’s an idiot’ huff.

‘Yes, apparently it is. I can tell you’re having a slow day at the office so I’ll assume you’ll be home in twenty minutes. Otherwise I might start shooting things. –SH’

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes, as if the pregnant man would ever move from his spot on the sofa. John wasn’t even sure he _could_ move from the sofa – his bump really was rather enormous, giving the man all kinds of trouble, from finding clothes that fit to getting out of any sort of chair with low suspension.

On second thoughts, John wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to put that theory to the test. He glanced down at his watch before shoving a few files into his bag, babbling an excuse about a Sherlock-related emergency, and dashing off to the nearest Tesco.

 ***

Seventeen and a half minutes later John swung into the flat, three different kinds of vanilla ice-cream and one jar of gherkins in hand. Earlier in the pregnancy Sherlock had craved chocolate ice-cream and screamed at John for hours when the man brought him the variety with chunks in. Unsurprisingly, pregnant Sherlock was even pickier than everyday Sherlock.

“Love? Do you want me to put these in the kitchen or – oomph,” John let out a surprised noise as the consulting detective suddenly appeared, not from the living room as expected but the bedroom, pressing a light but desperate kiss to John’s lips as he snatched the carte d’or from his hands.

When Sherlock pulled away, already set on opening the tub John couldn’t help but smile. His mate really did look rather adorable; one of John’s old tee-shirts forced half over his inflated stomach, his hair flat on one side where he’d apparently been lying in bed and tongue darting out to lick his lips as if just the _idea_ of the ice-cream was enough to satisfy his craving.

Sherlock ran a finger along the lid of the tub and licked the slippery cream off of his finger before it could run down or drip anywhere. John sighed, guiding Sherlock gently to sit down on the sofa just as it occurred to him that the shirt Sherlock was wearing wasn’t an old top of John’s – but actually his current pyjama top.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock hummed a disinterested response as he stuck another finger into the pot, seemingly oblivious of the sticky solution now coating his chin. John decided to rub a little off for him, “Why are you wearing my top? I thought we bought you plenty of clothes last week?”

Sherlock hummed again, now discarding the tub. “We did,” he pulled down a little on the aforementioned top but it refused to stretch any further over his huge belly, “However, this one smells of you.”

John quirked half a smile and shuffled in closer to Sherlock, “Ah, of course. The ‘John cravings’. Did the top help?”

Sherlock pouted a little, though his heart wasn’t really in it, before shifting so he could awkwardly rest his head on John’s shoulder. “No. Neither did lying in your side of the bed for an hour. Or making seven strong cups of the tea you drink so the whole flat smelt of it – we’re out of tea, by the way – or sitting in your chair.” Sherlock relaxed a little, leaning his weight against John. “It’s okay, though. I worked out a solution.”

“Oh?”

Sherlock looked up to John with wide eyes and nodded, smiling happily. He pushed himself up to a slightly straighter sitting position and John instantly mourned the loss of warmth on his right hand side.

“Lie down.”

John made the mistake of staring at Sherlock quizzically for a moment, earning him a pregnant glare. Quickly, John shifted into a lying position, his back against the back of the sofa. Sherlock smiled and shifted himself – somewhat awkwardly – before sighing melodramatically, “I think I’m going to need a hand, this sofa isn’t exactly designed for three.”

Instead of daring to suggest they instead go about this enterprise elsewhere John acquiesced, holding up a hand to steady Sherlock’s back and another for Sherlock to grip on as he lay down, facing away from John to allow for his bump.

John’s hand ended up trapped beneath Sherlock’s body and further awkward shuffling ensued, until eventually John was able to lazily wrap one arm around Sherlock’s stomach, carding his free hand through Sherlock’s hair. Their feet were entwined and Sherlock reached up for the hand on his stomach, taking hold of it letting out a contented sigh.

“Satisfied?

Sherlock chuckled and John felt the sound rumble beneath his fingertips, “Very.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments make me happy :-)


End file.
